Eve's Place
by quietbang
Summary: In the end, it was the easiest decision in the world.


A/N Warnings for implied non/con, graphic descriptions of violence

I have no idea if this is any good, but if nothing else it's twenty-two pages of either proof that I need therapy or, possibly, an exercise in exorcising demons. Likely a mix of both.

This story has a very distinct 'theme song' if you will- it popped into my head when I was listening to the new Great Big Sea album, Safe Upon the Shore. The 'theme song' is Dear Home Town.

_No one know what's waiting where you go_

_Nothing's certain but the fact that you're leaving_

_But still you roam from the straight and narrow road_

_Riding nothing but the lies that you believe in _

_Frame after frame, the pictures all remain_

_Photographs of all the hearts you've broken_

_Frozen in time are the ghosts you left behind_

_Waiting for the words you left unspoken_

_Dear home town, never meant to let you down_

_When I sold my soul for a song_

_The dreams are to blame, they still linger and remain _

_In the heart of a child who's been gone, dear home town_

_Tell the girl, it's a wide and wondrous world_

_Room enough to leave a life you're hating_

_The highway runs both ways, and there's seats left on the train_

_If you take it to the station I'll be waiting_

Atlantis had been back on Earth for three weeks when John made his decision.

He had been called into General O'Neill's office, where the General looked at him, lifted an eyebrow inquiringly, and said "Sooo… Ya think you can get McKay to turn the hot water back on in the barracks?"

John looked at him, confused but not particularly surprised. "How d'you know it was him, Sir?"

O'Neill regarded him silently.

"Fair enough."

O'Neill clasped his hands together. "We can't prove it. Which is how I know it was him."

Oookay. Well, that was some twisted logic there. The enlisted men were fed the story that, when the officers were sent off to "commander school" they learned how to make decisions and talk pretty. John had always been pretty sure that was a lie.

Meeting O'Neill for the first time confirmed it. The man was crazy as a three-eyed squirrel, but John liked him. He wasn't afraid to put his ass where his mouth was, and, unlike some of the generals John had served under in the Gulf, had actually seen active duty in the last half-century.

It wasn't until Atlantis that he thought he understood, and it took the siege to make him certain. Watching his men and women die horribly, losing Ford, flying a suicide mission into a hive ship carrying a nuclear bomb built by his lover- these things had a way of making you see more clearly.

Maybe all good commanders _had_ to be a little squirelly, or else lose all sense of perspective. Every time new recruits were sent in through the stargate, he swore the Marines got younger until finally he muttered to Rodney- breaking in to his rant on the 'utter _incompetents' _among his new staff , ie: all of them- "Christ, they sent me fucking children."

He was pretty sure that was what O'Neill thought, too, and it went a long way to explaining his utterly screwed-up headspace.

"Sir?"

"Anyone else, Sam would have been able to trace through the system."

"Ah.""Look, Sheppard, can you just go talk to him? I admit, the man got much more tolerable while he was away, but even so…"

John gritted his teeth, and nodded.

"Was that all, sir?"

O'Neill nodded.

As John opened the heavy wooden door, O'Neill said "Could you at least find out _why _he did it? Maybe explain that there's no point making a statement if nobody knows what it is."

John nodded again, and headed to the lab.

Rodney wasn't there. Carter was tinkering with something in the corner, and looked up when he walked in. "Oh, John, good, you're here. Have you seen Rodney?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," John said.

"Damn," she swore.

"Why?"

"I was wondering if he remembered to take a look at the device from P6X 772 yet."

John grinned. "So, this wasn't about the Marines' hot water?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," John smirked, "Ask O'Neill."

John tried the infirmary next. Ronon was there, sitting in Dr Lam's office chair, eating a sucker and playing with a plastic model of the brain.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Have you seen McKay?"

"Why, is the hot water still off?" Ronon smirked.

"How did _you _hear about that?"

"A couple of them were bitching while we were training. These are supposed to be your best warriors? A six year old could punch harder than they can. _McKay_ can fight better than they can."

And there's a bit of pain in that statement, a touch of guilt, because Rodney had become one of the best men John had ever fought alongside, but it didn't mean shit now. He couldn't fight- hell, he could barely walk.

So many good lives, destroyed or altered forever. The list of hungry ghosts that plagued them at night seemed to grow with each passing hour.

"Yeah, well…"

He tried Daniel's office- the two had become friends, oddly enough, and they frequently hung out, despite Rodney's disdain for the soft sciences- and found only an unwashed, unshaven Daniel pouring over a book, wearing the same clothes he had on two days ago.

John didn't even _try_ to get his attention. He preferred all of his limbs _attached_, thank you very much.

Finally, John gave up. It was seven o'clock, and he figured that maybe he'd just gone home early.

He drove over to Rodney's apartment, and let himself in with his key. Dropping it on the counter, he absent-mindedly pet Schrodinger when the black cat rubbed against his arm.

"Rodney?"

No response.

Worried now, John walked through the open bedroom door and sighed in relief when he saw the lump of bedclothes.

"Thank God, Rodney, I was worried," He reached out to shake his partner awake, and withdrew his hand quickly when Rodney winced in pain and moved away.

"What the Hell, Rodney?"

"Mmm?" Rodney mumbled, eyes squinted into bright blue slits.

"Rodney. Wake up, buddy, what's wrong?"

"John?"

"Yeah. C'mon, Rodney, are you sick or something-" then cut himself off with a gasp as Rodney rolled over, exposing his white, muscled arms and torso- which were covered in livid bruises and abrasions.

"What the _fuck?"_

Rodney winced, and said "Look, John, they're not that bad-" And now John _knew_ something was wrong, because if it wasn't, Rodney would be making a big deal out of this. And rightly so, because it had to hurt like a bitch.

"Who did that?"

"I said they weren't that bad, I mean, honestly, I know I overreact sometimes but that's no excuse for you to do so, you're supposed to be the sane one."

"Rodney," John growled in a menacing breath, "That's a boot print. Who was it?"

"Some of the grunting evolutionary throwbacks you call soldiers. I guess they get off on beating cripples, makes them feel like big men."

"So that's why you turned off their hot water."

"Well, first I politely enquired as to what went wrong in their lives to make them so angry at the world. And you can't prove that I did."

"I know. That's how I know you did it."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I think O'Neill is rubbing off on me, and don't change the subject. What did you do? Why'd they kick the shit out of you?" And God they were so dead, even if Rodney wouldn't give their names. There were security cameras for a reason, and there are always vacancies at Elmendorf.

If there weren't, John was more than willing to create some.

"Oh, you know, because I'm superior to them in every way, from intelligence to penis size, because they're intimidated by my genius, because I'm a faggot- actually, now that you mention it, they did seem rather fixated on the last point."

"Shit."

"Yeah." And for once, Rodney didn't say anything, and neither did John. He simply ripped off his shirt and took of his pants and carefully removed Rodney's boxers. They made love almost painstakingly slowly, and after they came in each others arms, John kissed Rodney's tears away and whispered "We're going away. Anywhere you want."

"Forever?" Rodney gasped.

"If that's what you want."

"But what about you?"

"I'm getting too old for this. I'm never-" - here his voice went low and taut- "I'm never going to be able to fly again, and it's been made pretty clear I'm never getting promoted beyond this point. I've pissed off too many people. I don't really want to be a Lieutenant Colonel when I'm old and grey."

"But what about Atlantis?"

"She's lost, Rodney. Even if we could get her back, which we can't, there's no way in hell they're letting us through the gate. You know that."

"Yeah."

Silence. And, really, Rodney had been quiet ever since they'd returned to Earth, but this was getting ridiculous.

"I wish we could go home."

"Me too."

After a few minutes of silence, Rodney looked over at John, an odd expression on his face.

"I have a house."

"You what?"

"I have a house. I inherited it just before we left."

"You have a _house_? Why are you living in a shitty apartment?"

"I _inherited_ it, you moron. That means it's in Canada," Now he was speaking in the tones reserved for the mentally challenged or non-English speakers.

"Oh."

"We could go stay there for a while?"

"Where is it?"

"St. Anthony. Northern Newfoundland."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why not? Any space vampires in Newfoundland?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Any military installations?"

"Nope. Well, a few Canadian ones, but they're mostly in the south."

"Sounds perfect."

It took them a week to tender their resignations and say goodbye to their friends. On the last day, when John swung by the labs to pick up Rodney, heard voices coming from behind the door of Daniel's office. He crept forward, telling himself he wasn't _really_ eavesdropping, he was simply making sure that he wasn't interrupting anything.

"You're lucky, you know," said one of the voices.

"I know that. I'm not stupid. Christ, Daniel, do I know that." _that_ was definitely Rodney.

"I mean, because he's willing to retire. To give it all up for you."

"It's not for me, really. Well, it is and it isn't. It's- there's nothing left here, for us. Earth isn't home anymore, and this place- it's full of ghosts. It's killing him, being here without being able to fight the good fight."

"Was it ever?"

"What?"

"Earth. Was it ever home, to you guys? I mean, it doesn't take a genius to see that the only people who go on a one way mission to another galaxy are those who don't have anything left here."

"Hmph."

"And, no offense, Rodney, but it's not hard to see that your life was probably suspiciously like a Lifetime movie."

"Takes one to know one"

"Yes, it does," Daniel said mildly.

There was silence for a moment, and John went to open the door, but the covnersation began again.

"I- I know I don't say this sort of thing often enough- or ever, really, but- I mean- I really do like you, you know. You're- you're a reasonably competent scientist, and, uh, you're still, uh, liked and nice and shit. Iwasalwayskindofjealousofthat."

John could hear the smile in Daniel's voice. "Gee, thanks, Rodney. I'll miss you too. But… won't you miss this?"

A sigh. "This job has been the best thing that ever happened to me. Like, beyond my wildest dreams. I'll miss the purpose, the excitement- hell, I'll miss the math. But I can still do consultancy work, and my security clearance means I'll get to do some cool stuff. I'll miss the work, but not this. This isn't home. Atlantis is home. The SGC is too full of ghosts for me."

"Well, it'll suck not having you around. Jack is pissed."

There was silence again.

"You know, I could get John to beat him up, if you want."

A snort.

"No, really. He wouldn't mind."

"He'd kill him. He packs quite a punch, you know."

"No, I don't know. Why do you?"

"Shut up."

"I'm not kidding. I'm not above sending you pamphlets, you know."

"We're _fine._ It's just stress. Besides, I can pack quite a punch too."

"Yes yes, but _you_ don't know a frankly astonishing number of ways to kill a man. Or have barely sublimated PTSD."

"You are aware of the irony of _you_ warning me about the dangers of a partner with PTSD?"

"Hey, we both PTSD the fuck out on a fairly regular basis. That's why it works. You, on the other hand, have managed to escape a fairly atrocious life with your sanity intact, and I'd hate to see some asshole throw that away just because you love him."

"Gee, thanks?"

"Hah. Ha. Ha."

"Are you _sure_ you're alright? You're being suspiciously close to caring."

"No, it's just in the best interests of the earth- and therefore, me- for you to be healthy, happy, and not dead."

"Aw, I'm touched."

"Asshole."

At that point, John finally opened the door.

"Hey," he said, striving for nonchalance. "Ready to go, Rodney?"

Rodney gave him a Look, one that said he wasn't buying it.

"Sure," he said. "Just let me grab my bag."

Rodney walked out , and an awkward silence fell.

Finally, Daniel broke it.

"So. You and McKay, huh?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. Why, are you jealous?"

A funny expression crossed Daniel's face. "Yes." Then, hurrying on after catching John's expression- "Not in that way, but I am jealous of Rodney. That you were willing to retire for him."

"It wasn't _for _him, exactly, well, it was and it wasn't,"

Daniel gave a half smile in response, but something in Daniel's expression just seemed so tired and old and immeasurably _sad_, and John smiled. That was as good as a confirmation of his long-held suspicions.

"I bet- they would. Whoever it is. If you asked them to."

A snort.

"Do you think I haven't?"

"Well," John paused, wording this carefully for the security cameras, "That's how the military is, you know. Save the world enough times, and they won't let you go."

That was safe, that could've been Sam or Vala or any one of a few hundred other scientists and Marines.

"Yeah. Maybe. Goodnight, John," Daniel said, and reached up to rub at his temples.

"Goodnight.""Good luck."

"Thanks."

John decides to wait for Rodney out in the hallway, and shut the door behind him as he exited, but not before he saw Daniel rest his forehead against his desk, silent tears seeping out of his eyes.

It took four days to get to Nova Scotia, and John drove nearly the whole way. Rodney had tried, but John had politely pointed out that people without total muscle control in their legs should not be driving, at least not if John was in the car. And besides, "You drive like a fucking maniac McKay! How on Earth did you survive before I met you?"

Eight hours and a ferry ride later, they were in Newfoundland. The ferry, during which time John had been profoundly sick, and "Jesus Christ Sheppard! Aren't you supposed to be the tough as nails, macho military man? How on Earth did you get past basic if a _boat _makes you sick?", had been awful.

"I'm- I was- in the Air Force, McKay, I fly _planes_. I hate boats."

Rodney had rolled his eyes, then got a queer expression on his face. After a moment, he reached out and put an arm round John's waist. John's eyes widened, and turned around rapidly. Rodney flinched at the sudden movement.

Shit. Rodney must more tired than he was letting on, if he was flinching at John.

"It's just muscle memory," he assured John the first time it happened, "It's not like- I mean- It's got nothing to do with whether I trust you or not." But John wasn't entirely convinced, and had been tempted to press the issue, but Rodney had looked so sad and fragile and generally un-Rodney like that John had forced his stomach to unknot from its furious clinch, and smiled.

After they had been dating for about a year, the flinching decreased. By now, it was almost, but not entirely, gone. When Rodney was ill, or tired, it came back with a vengeance, and when he woke up from one of his not-infrequent nightmares, he still trembled like a leaf and cringed when John tried to touch him.

They never talked about it. It was part of an unspoken deal, that if John didn't bring up the scars or the fear or the flinching , Rodney wouldn't bring up the burns covering Johns left leg, or the way that hot, dry weather sent him into a dark fury. Neither of them talked about the past. On Atlantis, it was easy- with almost daily crises, they were too busy to have the long dark teatimes of the soul necessary for that sort of discussion.

John supposed that they might have to talk about it now, and even the thought sends him into an anxious sweat.

Their arms are around each other now, because hey, they can do it now. They could be making out if they wanted, but Rodney is wincing, his face white, leaning heavily on his cane.

John leads them over to a bench, and they sit quietly in the grey, misty October day as they watch the mainland fade away.

When they pulled into harbour at St John's, Rodney managed to convince a reluctant John to let him drive.

"You don't know where you're going. Besides, is your license even _valid_ here?"

John had no idea; so he simply sat in the passenger seat, watching the multicoloured shingled sides of the houses pass in a blur.

It was beautiful, and reminded him of the time he'd spent in Portugal, the salty sea air, slightly battered scenery, and colours that were almost too bright.

It's like another country, John thought wonderingly.

"That's because it _is, _you moron."

Oops. He hadn't realised he'd been speaking out loud.

With a muttered curse, Rodney turned the car into the parking lot of a large, white stucco complex.

"Why are we stopping?"

"We need to get supplies." Rodney undid his belt and then awkwardly reached over and undid John's as well.

"Rodney."

"John."

"Rodney!"

"John!"

John caved first.

"Just how remote _is_ this place, anyways? Why aren't there any grocery stores there?"

"There are," Rodney smirked, "But everything's really expensive because of how far they have to ship it."

"Okay, that answers one question, but it's not really putting my mind at ease about its relative- er- remoteness."

"Remoteness?"

"That sounded much better in my head."

"Right." Rodney smiled. "And as for, as you so brilliantly put it, 'remoteness', Jess tells me that a polar bear's been seen wandering around this week, terrorizing innocent townspeople."

"Jess? Who's she?" Then, John's brain caught up with his ears. "Wait- a POLAR BEAR?"

Rodney's smirk grew wider. "Uh huh. You _said_ you didn't mind northern."

Well- yes- John had said that, technically, but still. A fucking POLAR BEAR.

"That was before I realised we were moving to the set of Northern Exposure," John said.

McKay stuck out his tongue.

"God, Rodney, what are you, twelve?"

"Yes, well, I'm at least sixteen, thank you very much."

Jesus. What had he gotten them into?

An hour later, and the shopping had done nothing to set his mind at ease. Besides the $300 worth of groceries now boxed up and sitting in the back of the truck, Rodney had also purchased two boxes of ammunition, some acetaminophen, ibuprofen, vitamins, antiseptic, bandages, new clothes for John - "Christ, Sheppard, you'll freeze your skinny ass off dressed like that."- and a large, metal contraption that looked suspiciously like a mediaeval torture device.

When John had looked at Rodney questioningly, Rodney had only smiled and remarked "You'll find out."

The man was evil.

They were sitting in a small coffee shop, Rodney looking happier than he had in weeks, and John finally asked "So, what am I getting myself into?"

John had been so caught up with packing and resigning, he hadn't really done much research. All he knew about it was that Rodney looked happier whenever he mentioned it, and that was good enough for him.

Rodney shrugged. "Coffee?" He asked questioningly, gesturing at John with the pot.

John shook his head.

"McKay."

Rodney grinned, really grinned, and he looked younger than John had ever seen him. He had to resist the urge to reach over and kiss him senseless.

"It's- well- it's awesome. Feels a bit like Atla- like home, I guess. Bloody freezing, in the middle of fucking nowhere, Podunk hillbilly Islander town. But… it's gorgeous. Desperately poor. There used to be a US army base, but it closed up in the sixties. If it's the same as when I left, most of the industry comes from the ocean and tourism, and most of the tourism comes from stupid Yanks who come up to whale watch and take pictures of the icebergs. It's- um- well, it's very beautiful, very religious. It's- you know, it's- it's a good place. "

"I see," John said, wishing they'd had this conversation earlier. John's a Southern boy, likes beaches and sex and surf boards and things that go more than 200 miles per hour. He's not sure how he'll take living somewhere that sounds like Flannery O'Conner wrote an North of 60 episode.

What are we going to do, he starts to ask, but is cut off by the sound of Rodney's cell phone.

"Hello? Oh, hey Jess. Yeah, I got the stuff. What's in it for me? You know what, yes, you're right, I *am* rather attached to my balls, come to think of it, of course I'll get it. My dear, you come anywhere near him and I'll tell Sadie. Can you meet us, or- you know what, yes yes, we'll stop by Eve's. Kay. Oh, you know you like it. Kay." and shut the phone with a click.

"Who was that?"

"You'll find out."

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Mmm hmm."

An hour later, and they're on the road. John's teeth are chattering, and his glasses feel like ice on his face.

"Jesus, Rodney, it's freezing! What is it, 40* outside?"

"It's at least 16. Besides, if you're going to live here, you're going to have to start speaking in Celsius." This was said with more than a hint of fiendish glee.

John harrumphed loudly, and Rodney let out a bark of laughter.

"Well, can you at least turn on the heater?"

"Of course. Why didn't you ask?" Another bark of laughter.

John grumbles, and turns over in his seat to sleep.

Rodney looks over at him, smiles, and reaches across to gently brush hair off of John's scarred face. As they drive farther and farther north, and civilization fades away, an odd feeling settles in the pit of his stomach.

He hasn't been back in twenty years, had fallen out of contact with almost everyone except Eve. With her death went his last link to his hometown.

He didn't let himself miss it, except in the summer, when even Colorado Springs seemed claustrophobic. He's always had a hard time breathing in cities, and although he was glad to be away from some segments of small town life- the religion, the bigotry, the pettiness- when they first stepped onto Athos his chest clenched up at the thought of home.

Home.

Rodney never knew the meaning of the word, until he met Eve.

And that was the other thing that bothered him, because he knew that he couldn't avoid the conversation much longer. Maybe he could talk to Sadie, see if she could jimmy up the police file. That would be easier.

They weren't _good_ at talking. Lack of communication was the basis of their entire relationship. They were _guys_. They ate and they fought and they fucked, and they only _really_ talked, about the important stuff, when they were exhausted and it was dark and one or both of them had nearly lost their lives.

He didn't think John would leave him. They had survived too much shit, even Doranda, to be undone by something so small.

At least, he didn't consciously think that. It was still there in the back of his mind, the fear of being abandoned.

He knew, logically, that the fear was unfounded. Heightmeyer, for all that she practiced the worst kind of voodoo, had come close to really making him believe that, but then she died.

So many deaths, and the survivors, the stragglers of the expedition, had all gone on a mass exodus. Radek's ashes were in Prague. Teyla, on New Athos. Ronon, in Colorado. Miko, in Japan. Simpson, at Berkely. Keller was working at the WHO, and Cadman, Lorne and the remaining Marines were all training new recruits and had been or were awaiting promotion.

You could pick them out, the Atlantis survivors, even if you'd never seen them before. The way they walked, the look in their eyes, the scars and burns and crippled limbs, and the way they constantly walked into doors as though expecting them to open in front of them.

The scientists still wore dog tags. In an e-mail, Keller mentioned getting some strange looks, but that she couldn't bare to take them off, and Rodney had seen Miko'sglinting beneath her collar during a Skype call.

Glancing down from the road, Rodney fingered his tags.

MCKAY, RODNEY M, they said, CSO ATLANTIS EXPIDITION AB+ NORELPREF 1103686

Below the English script was the same words written in Ancient. Even though the Gate translated for them, they didn't want to take the chance.

Jess would get a kick out of that. They were so similar, in some ways, to the point that neither of them spoke to the other after they left St Anthony. It hurt too much, reminded them both of things they'd rather forget.

And now they were old and they were both back home, the prodigals returned.

This fact would probably fill their sixteen year old selves with disdain, and even the Rodney of ten years ago might have snorted dismissively at the very idea, but things had changed.

Even family members aren't scarier than the Wraith. Maybe.

He was braver than his sixteen year old self gave him credit for. He doesn't need to run anymore. He hopes.

It is dark now, and the icy waves of the Atlantic crash against the craggy cliffs. The wilderness is dark and neverending, the darkness broken only by tiny fishing villages with names like 'Baie d'Ours', or 'Happy Valley'. Every now and then, an owl hooted, and through the trees Rodney glimpsed deer, the dark, nobby skeleture of a moose, or a flash of red that was probably a coyote. Once, in the darkness, he glimpsed the glowing golden eyes of a wolf.

Rodney shivered. Out here, the natural world overwhelmed you, made you aware of just how puny and insignificant you were in the scope of the greater universe and how your life could be ended in the blink of an eye.

He never liked the outdoors, but in a car, protected, with John by his side, he thinks that this is as close as he's ever gotten to a religious experience.

Finally, they reach St. Anthony. The town is exactly as he remembers it, small ramshackle clapboard houses jostling each other for space on a dark, craggy ocean cove. High cliffs bordered one side of the town, eating away at the downtown core, while the other melted seamlessly into the wilderness. The wind had forced the trees to grow small and thin, clinging to the cliffs with a tenacity Rodney has always found vaguely impressive. The cliffs themselves are almost absurdly green, covered in a lush carpet of moss and blue grass. The inky black ocean eats at the cliffs, sending up huge shoots of ice-cold spray. The sky is clear, and there are so many stars that for a moment Rodney feels as though he has been punched in the chest. He turns off the paved main street to the tar-and-gravel side streets, and stops in front of a larger, sprawling red clapboard house with a large veranda.

On the side, in careful, curling script, was written

"Eve's Place. All are Welcome"

Rodney pulls into the driveway, and reaches over and pokes John in the shoulder.

Within seconds, John is awake, and Rodney's arm is twisted the wrong way round.

"Um- Ow! Christ, John, we have got to find a better way to wake you up, maybe one that doesn't involve you cutting off the circulation to one of my few remaining appendages!"

John has the good grace to look abashed. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"Yes yes, I know, it's fine. C'mon," he says, "We have to stop here first."

"What time is it?" John stretches, and every bone in his body crackles and pops with released tension.

"About 8, I think."

John nods sleepily, and pushes open the door to the truck.

"You coming?"

"Yeah," Rodney looks tired, "Just give me a minute. My leg's seized up again, and the other won't do what I tell it. It's very rude."

John is by his side in an instant. "It is, yeah. Let me see."

Rodney looks like he's going to protest, but his legs must really be hurting, because he let's John ease up the legs of his jeans and first, ease out the prosthetic leg closest to the door, rubbing the knotted and scarred tissue in the thigh, then, after Rodney has shifted enough to allow him access, rubbing the harshly tensed muscle in the other, pressing gently around the scars from the original wounds and the six subsequent surgeries.

"Damn, it's tight as a drum."

"Yes, I had managed to work that out for myself, thanks," Rodney gritted the words through his teeth, but they lacked their usual bite. He must really be hurting.

"Did you _take _your medication today?"

"I couldn't, I was going to be driving. Besides, I hate the way it makes my head feel."

"Right," John said flatly, still guilty that Rodney had been driving at all.

As though reading his thoughts, Rodney spat, "Oh, don't be such a narcissist, Sheppard. It isn't your fault." Then, in a softer tone, "You do know that, don't you, John?"

"Sure," John ground out without much conviction. Of course it was his fault, the whole damn battle was his fault.

Rodney huffed angrily, his face white with pain. John continued to work the flesh, rubbing methodically, trying to force the muscles to relax enough so that Rodney could walk inside.

"You're using your walker tonight. No arguments."

Rodney huffed, and rolled his eyes, but he didn't disagree, and that showed how bad the pain really was.

It became clear that this wasn't going to be enough when, after fifteen minutes, Rodney still couldn't really move.

Finally, Rodney opened his eyes, hazy with pain, enough to focus on Sheppard and say "John. My bag. In the back. The blue one, with the theta on it. I need it."

After a bit of rummaging, John produced the bag. Rodney dug through it anxiously, until finally he grasped a small amber pill bottle. Hands shaking with pain, he shook out a small orange tablet, and stuck it under his tongue.

"Which one did you take?"

"Clonazepam. The muscle relaxant. I can't take any gabapentin or hydromorphone until I have some food on my stomach."

John nodded. After a few minutes, the medicine seemed to take effect, and Rodney sighed with relief.

"Ready to go?" John inquired.

"Yes, just a moment."

Using John's arm to steady himself, he unfolded his body and stepped out of the truck, gasping a little as he did so.

"You okay?"

"I'll be fine."

He pulled a few bags from the trunk and set them in the basket of the walker. It was blue, and someone- John was guessing Ronon, or Cadman, or maybe Daniel- had drawn a stick figure on it in magic marker. The figure was lying on its back, walker overturned, legs in the air.

_Help, _it said, _I've fallen and I can't get up!_.

Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way to the front of the building, John nearly tripping twice in the darkness.

When they reached the green wooden door, Rodney pressed a button.

"Eve's Place," a tinny voice spoke from the intercom, "Please state your name and reason for being here."

"Rodney McKay," Rodney said clearly, "I'm here to see Jessie Lewis-Sauvé and Sadie Sauvé-Lewis. Are they around?"

"Rodney?" the voice sounded excited. "Is that you?"

"Yes." Rodney sounded irritated.

"It's Jessica Black- we were in school together, remember?"

"Yes. Now, it's very cold out here, my leg is threatening to secede from my body, I'm exhausted, and my partner nearly fell into the ocean twice walking up the path. Can you please open the door? Maybe sometime in, say, the next century?"

The intercom laughed.

It was very odd.

"Sure thing, Rodney, c'mon in."

The door buzzed, and a lock clicked, and Rodney pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped in. John followed, his hand never leaving Rodney's elbow.

"Hi, Rodney!" A fat, black-haired woman sat at the heavy wooden desk, cast in a warm glow by the single desk lamp. The entranceway was dark blue in colour, and knotted rag rugs lay on the cool stone tiles.

"Hi, Jessica. Where's Jess and Sadie?"

"Oh, they're in the back. I could call them if you like."

"No, I'll go get them. I brought some stuff for the kids, anyways."

"It was lights out for the little ones about ten minutes ago, but the older ones should still be awake. Just- remember to stay out of the sun rooms?"

Rodney smirked. "I'm not stupid, Jessica. In fact, I am a genius, as you well know."

"Maybe, Rodney, but I remember our grade 10 parenting class."

Rodney blushed a dark red. "So, my interpersonal skills leave something to be desired. My model wasn't great."

"I know, Rodney."

"_Of_ course you do." He knew there was a reason he hated small towns.

As they walked down the warm, comfortable pine hallway, John asked "So, what is this place?"

Rodney averted his eyes. "It belonged to my grandmother. It's a shelter for people who've been abused, sexually assaulted, or who just need asylum for some reason. That sign out front is true- anyone really is welcome, regardless of age, gender, religion or sexual orientation. The only places in this building that aren't accessible to all residents are the sun rooms- those are single gender and are for victims of sexual assaults- and the starfish rooms, which only allow certain adults in and are for child victims of violence, sexual or otherwise."

Johns eyebrows shot up. "Wow. That... Wasn't what I was expecting." A thought occurred to him. "How do you keep the scumbags out?"

"You saw the intercom. Visitors must be cleared, in writing, at least 24 hours in advance. Asylum claimants should phone first, if at all possible, but we will accept you if you come to the door. There are men's and women's wings, and rooms are dormitory style, two bunk beds to a room. There are also single-occupancy rooms- those are the sun rooms."

John nodded. "Cool."

"It's a good place. There's a lot of domestic violence and alcoholism around here, it's important that people have someplace to go." Rodney seemed to get lost in his thoughts for a moment, then stopped abruptly at the sight of the hearth.

They had reached the main room, by the looks of it, a wide, warm room full of couches and bean bags, with a television sitting on a chest full of movies and video games. There were three tall pine bookshelves, and a chess board sat on the coffee table next to a pile of magazines. Two old computers sat at the side of the room on desks, both currently in use. The room was full of pillows, rugs and throws, and a fire was roaring in the fireplace.

John 's mouth dropped open, agape. He'd never had chance to be in one, but this was not what he pictured a shelter looking like. He rather suspected that most of them were quite bleak places.

This was not what drew Rodney's attention. He was focused on the mantle piece, where a large, wooden picture frame held a photo of a short, plump older woman, her brown-grey hair curled around her cheekbones, and her grey eyes merry with excitement behind gold glasses frames. Next to her, with her arm around him, was a skinny, gawky boy, light brownish hair curling around his ears and huge blue eyes betraying a puppyish look. He had a small, shy smile, as though he was afraid to look the camera person in the eye. On the other side of the woman was a pale, slightly plump dark-haired girl in her early teens. Her black eyes belied a kindness, and she bit her lip, as though in thought. She looked to be about 13.

Beneath the photo, a small placard read _"Eve Vankerrbroek, founder of Eve's Place, is pictured here with her two adopted 'grandchildren', Rodney Mckay and Jessie Lewis. Eve dedicated her life to them and to this facility, and everyone who knew her was touched by her kindness. In her friends and family she instilled two basic values. The first was "Never leave anyone behind" and the second was "Life can be an utter bitch. Life is cruel, life is mean, and life can be dark. But there is always light. Never be afraid of life. Relish the beauty, and don't be afraid to ask for help, lest you get caught in the darkness. We are the only ones we can ever count on to save ourselves." We here at Eve's Place can only hope that she succeeded in instilling her values in us, and we are honoured to operate today under the same principles with which Eve opened the doors to this facility in 1953. We love you, Grandma, and you will be truly missed."_

John smiled. There was so much of Rodney in those philosophies. He looked over to ask about the picture, and was shocked to see that Rodney was biting back tears.

"Hey," John said softly, squeezing Rodney's hand, "Are you okay?"

Rodney nodded, then, visibly pulling himself together, walked over to the couches, where a group of children between about 10 and 16 years of age were gathered, chatting amiably.

John stood back, and watched Rodney with admiration. He was good at this. He moved slowly, carefully, making no quick movements. He cleared his throat softly.

Most looked up, with only a few looking away or going pale.

"Hey," he said brightly.

"Hi," A few kids mumbled back.

Then, one of the girls who was looking at the floor said "Are you Rodney?"

Rodney smiled. "Yes, I am. What's your name?"

The girl looked up from underneath her brown, overlong, bangs. Her hazel eyes looked fearful, but inquisitive.

"Jade. Miss Jess said you were comin' today."

From the back, a fine boned Native girl said "She said you'd bring candy."

Rodney raised an eyebrow. "Oh, did she now?"

Rodney reached back to his walker and pulled out a large paper bag. From it, he withdrew a small plastic tub of sour keys, a small sac of chocolate coins, and a tin of rocket pops.

"It's pretty late," he cautioned, "Don't you think that maybe you should save some for the little kids tomorrow?"

A girl at the back, a skinny, crooked nosed red-head with dark-framed glasses, took charge. She limped forward, clad in plaid pyjama bottoms and a thermal top.

"You can all take one of each, but then we should put the rest of it into cubbies. We can divvy it up into shares before school tomorrow, alright guys?"

There were a few mutinous looks, but they agreed, and they proceeded to do exactly that.

"Nice job," John commented, drawing back from the shadows.

The girl looked at him appraisingly. "Thanks. Who are you?"

Rodney answered for him. "This is John. He's my partner."

The girl snorted. "My daddy said you was a faggot. Nice to know it's true."

John opened his mouth to respond, but, again, Rodney beat him to it.

"Well, your daddy's an asshole. How old are you? Twelve?"

"I'm thirteen and a quarter this week."

"Thirteen, and you already have a mouth like that? You must really not have any respect for yourself."

The girl scowled. "Oh, right, I forgot, none of it's my fault, I'm _damaged_. You think I'm pretending to be tough, that it's some kind of defence mechanism. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Grandpa."

"Actually," Rodney continued in a deceptively mild voice, "I was about to say that you're an exceptionally rude, moronic and ignorant young lady, and you're also lonely and scared. Take it from me, kid."-here he knelt down to her eye-level, wincing in pain as he did so- "There are easier ways to lash out at the world. Talk to Mr Arthur, he'll teach you how to make a nuke."

The girl narrowed her eyes at him. "You're a freak."

"So I've been told. And, just for the record, kid, I know you're not pretending to be tough. I'm not sure you could beat me up now, but you could definitely do it if I was your age. Bit of advice, which you won't take? Use your brain, not your fists. You can beat up people bigger than you and not have to worry about getting blood stains out of your shirts." He pushed himself to his feet, taking John's outstretches arm.

"G'night kids!"

"G'night Mr Rodney!" The kids said with glee, hyped up on sugar.

Back in the hallway, John pauses to turn to Rodney.

"I thought you were bad at diplomacy. _And _that you hated kids. And I didn't know you had a sister. What you did in there was fucking _incredible, _Rodney."

Rodney shrugged. "It wasn't diplomacy or empathy or communication or any of that crap, it was just- I do know what that's like. I've been that kid, lashing out at the world because you know that if you don't hit first, it will, and you might not survive the next punch. I've _been_ alone and scared and angry and so incredibly tired of having to be the adult in every situation. I know how she feels, and she had every right to feel that way. There's something incredibly patronizing about adults who, as far as you know, have no idea what your life is like, trying to 'help' you by encouraging you to talk about your feelings. It's bullshit. I get it. And can we _please_ save the family discussion until we're with Jess? Preferably after I drink half a bottle of wine?"

"Not if you're going to take painkillers."

"Damn." Rodney pouted, causing John to let out a crack of laughter and pull him over to kiss the top of his head.

Finally, they reached a heavy wooden door. Rodney shrugged, and pushed it open.

"Rodney!" A dark haired woman shrieked from behind the desk. "I can't believe it's you."

Rodney grinned, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't believe it's you, either."

There was a pause, and then, simultaneously, they said "What happened?"

"You got old," snapped the woman.

"You got fat," countered Rodney.

"What happened to your legs?"

"What happened to your face?"

"It's classified."

"Saw the wrong side of an Afghani prison."

"Wait," John broke in, "There's a _right_ side?"

"Fair point," the woman said. "Rodney, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Fine, fine. John, this is my -uh- this is Jessie. Jess, this is my- um- this is John."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "I'm his sister."

John matched the movement. "He's my partner."

A short silence fell.

"Well," said Rodney, clapping his hands together, "This has been sufficiently awkward, so, Jess, if you could just give me the keys, and we'll be on our-"

"-You bastard!" She shouted, "It's been twenty years! You can't just waltz in here without having a conversation with me. How have you been for the last _twenty years, _Rodney? Why the Hell did _Jeannie _hear from you and I didn't? What the fuck, Rodney?"

Rodney rubbed his eyes tiredly. "It really is classified. I was working for the US government, somewhere very isolated. I had very little contact with the outside world. As for Jeannie, if it's any comfort, she only heard from me because I thought I was going to die and you were off somewhere practicing your voodoo in ridiculous conditions. You didn't exactly leave a forwarding address. Not to mention, it would have been extremely dangerous. Some pretty terrible stuff happened to Jeannie because of me. I couldn't risk them happening to you."

Jess smirked. "Aw, Rodney, you really *do* care about me."

Rodney scowled. "Shut up."

"Not to break up this charming family reunion," John deadpanned, "But *why* don't I know about your sister?"

"Half-sister," Rodney corrected, "Or adopted sister, too, I guess. It- it didn't come up. It's a long story, John, and not a particularly pleasant one."

Rodney turned to Jess. "I don't suppose there's any chance that Sadie could just find the police report, save us all a lot of time and effort?"

Jess raised an eyebrow. "You mean save you from having to talk about your feelings? Not a chance. I can grab the report, *also*, but this needs to come from you."

"I- I don't know if I can. I don't think I know how," Rodney admitted, and John knew then how bad this story was, that Rodney would admit to not knowing how.

Jess smiled sadly, and seemed to soften.

"Maybe start at the beginning? I can help with the later stuff, but not the things that happened before I was born.""I wish Eve were here," Rodney said softly.

"Nah, she'd tell you to buck up and get on with it, stop wallowing."

"I'm not wallowing!"

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too.""Not."

"Too."

"Too."

"Not."

"Hah!" Rodney shouted. "I win!"

John burst out laughing. "Excuse me, Rodney, but how old are you- six?"

Rodney quirked a grin. "I think we established earlier that I am at least sixteen."

"Right. Sorry, how could I forget. Now, I think you were gonna tell me something."

Rodney gaped in mock astonishment. "Who are you and what have you done with John Sheppard? Was it just the military entrapment, and now that you're out you're going to want to be all _sensitive _and watch _Sleepless in Seattle _and cry?"

John scowled at him. Rodney stuck out his tongue.

"You do know what an incredibly strange sentence that is coming from the mouth of a man who once built a _glittery Dalek_?" Jess looked a minute away from hysterical laughter.

"Jess, you're stereotyping again."

"Rodney," John said, "Just tell the damn story."

"Fine," Rodney said with a longsuffering sigh, "But you're not going to like it."

"I wasn't planning on it."

Rodney bit his lip, searched the room for a place he could look where John and Jess wouldn't see his face, and settle on the back corner carpet. He sighed again, swallowed th e lump in his throat, and began.

"Right, so, um, the thing is, my dad wasn't from around here. My mum was, she was born here, but my dad was a geologist employed by the government, searching for coal. Which was incredibly idiotic of them, cos everyone with half a brain knows that all the coal is down south, but whatever. Mum was fifteen when she had me, Dad was thirty. Which is just about the grossest thing I've ever heard, but grandma- my real grandma, I mean- thought that he was a 'family man' because he drove a station wagon. Thing is, mum was- I mean, she was a smart woman, I guess, and a brilliant pianist- but, really, she was just sort of this depressed mediocre teenager who saw Dad as a ticket out of this shithole island. Thing is, Dad knocked Mum up, and heaven forbid the town get wind of the fact that she had sex out of wedlock. It was fine for him, and apparently fine for a fifteen year old to marry someone twice her age- but, anyways, they got married.

"They fought constantly. One or the other was always drunk and throwing things, but that was alright. They ignored me. I was a pretty self-sufficient little kid, and if there wasn't any food in the house I would just steal some cash from one of their pockets when they passed out and go buy a candy bar. Jeannie was born when I was four, and Dad decided that he'd had enough. He left, and took Jeannie with him. I used"

-and here his voice broke a little-

"Before I realised that religion was pap meant to soothe the masses, I used to pray that he'd come back and get me. But he didn't, and I was an idiot to ever think he would. I know that. Even then, I knew that.

"Anyway, after he left, Mum got into some bad stuff. She started doing meth, and eventually started fucking her dealer. He- well- Andrew was- well, in 1988 he was busted for running a child porn ring, so you can imagine what my life was like with him in the house-" Rodney broke off, his throat closing up around the words.

_This _was why he tried not to talk about this stuff, it made him panicky. He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate.

He felt a hand on his back, and instinctively cringed away. He looked back to see John, who was shaking with barely sublimated fury.

Rodney looked away.

He knew, intellectually, that the rage wasn't directed at him, but part of him was convinced that it _should be_, because John hadn't heard the worst of it yet, and sometimes it was hard to look at the string of never ending catastrophes that was his life and not conclude that the only common denominator was- well- him.

He knew that that wasn't rational, but he couldn't help feeling inadequate, couldn't help going over the incidents in his head, trying to see where exactly he went wrong.

He wasn't a strong man, or a particularly good fighter- though he'd gotten better- and, well, it's hard to admit to being weak when you're also the smartest man in two galaxies.

He knew it was arrogant to cling to that, but he had too, because in the face of chaos, that was his only real weapon.

"Hey, Rodney," John said softly, and when Rodney looked at him he could see that John had himself under control again.

"Breathe, buddy. Just breathe."

Rodney gave a strangled laugh, and forced himself to concentrate on his breathing. When he felt his tenuous control over himself return, he started again.

"Anyway, she was with, uh, him, until I was nine. Longest five years of my life. But, well, then she met Michel, Jessie's dad, and things were good for a while. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. He used to be a radar guy with the Navy, and then he retired to become a fisherman. He was probably a dirty old man, in retrospect, because Mum was still only 24 or 25, and he was like, sixty, but he was- well, he was nice. He's the one who got me into math and science, and made sure I went to school. He was really good friends with Bill, whom I have no doubt you will meet soon- frankly, I'm surprised Jess didn't manage to spring him on us tonight."

"He was busy," Jess opined sweetly.

"Right. Anyway, they got married, and Mum had Jess, and things were great for about two years. Mum sobered up, and started giving piano lessons again. Then- well- there was an accident, when Michel was out sealing, and all fourteen guys on the boat died. PETA said they deserved it. Mum was- well, she was devastated. She began drinking and using again, and she pretty much lived the rest of her life in a haze. I- I don't really blame her, seeing as what happened next, but…" Rodney's voice grew quiet. "That's still… still not an excuse for it…"

Rodney clenched his teeth, trying desperately not to cry. He sat down heavily in a hastily proffered chair, and pressed his hands to his face, trying to stop the tears.

"Sorry," he said, "Sorry. It's the damn meds, they make me all, all emotional and shit."

Jess and John exchanged doubtful looks.

"I could take over now, if you'd like, Rodney."

"Sure," Rodney snarked tonelessly, in a weak and quavery voice, "_Now_ she offers. Just wanted to make me sacrifice my dignity on the alter of masculinity, first."

"You know it," replied Jess, "Anyways. So Mum was pretty much out of it, Rodney pretty much ran the house. And that was when Mum met Darren. You know he was bad, because his name sounds like the backup vocalist in a twee nineties pop group.

"He was into some pretty heavy stuff, and he used to go- go a bit mad, I guess, when he was high. He would-" Jessie paused, and took a deep breath,

"He pretty much left me alone- Rodney made sure of that- but he made sure that Rodney was punished for my 'mistakes'. It was- it was stupid kid stuff, like leaving the lights on or the door unlocked- and I tried, I tried so hard, to be good, but-" Now Jess was fighting tears.

"-It wasn't your fault, Jess." Rodney interrupted, looking up from the apparently fascinating carpet. "You know that."

"Yeah, I do," Jess said. "He was just a sick fuck, that's all. Anyway, he would make- he would make Rodney walk around without any clothes on. And when something happened that he blamed Rodney for, he would whip him, or belt him, or beat him with a hot frying pan. Once, he made Rodney lie still while he placed hot coals on his back. He would lock him in the closet without food, and leave him there all day. By the time he let him out, Rodney would be near collapse, because of his hypoglycaemia."

Jessie was crying in earnest now. "He would threaten to do the same thing to me, if Rodney didn't- perform- for him. We kept trying to run away, but we lived in one of the coves- there was nothing but wilderness around our house, and you couldn't get to town without a car. But when Rodney was fourteen, and I was five, Rodney was late coming home from school. He missed his bus, and had to walk the entire twenty kilometres home.

"Rodney was late, and Darren was high, and one thing led to another and Darren took his anger out on me, beat me up pretty bad, busted a few of my ribs.

"But Rodney gets home, and sees this, and gets so angry he takes a swing at Darren. Darren got even angrier, if possible, and he was a big guy- weighed about a hundred and fifty kilos, and was at least 6'7''- and just lays into Rodney, who actually ends up fracturing his skull, his clavicle, six ribs, and his nose, and bruising his kidneys, liver and spleen. I'm pretty sure he also punctured a lung.

"He was lucky to be alive, anyway, and Darren freaked out and took us both to the hospital, told them there'd been an accident, and left. Rodney was in critical condition for a week, and when they moved him out of the ICU we ran away from the hospital, and ended up here.

"Eve- she's the lady who's picture you saw out front- gave us a place to stay, and she took us in. We went to the police, and Darren ended up being put away for 10 years…" she trailed off.

Rodney cut in, his voice surprisingly strong.

"Mum put a bullet in her brain a few months later, and Eve- Grandma- adopted us. She was a good woman, without any children of her own, so, it all turned out good."

There was silence for a moment, everyone struggling to breathe under the weight of the memories.

"Well, I think that's the lot of it- you've heard every pathetic detail of my alarmingly soap opera-like childhood. Now, if you don't mind, Jess…"

Jessie had pulled herself together, and looked at him, her scarred cheek twisting her smile into a sardonic smirk. "Rodney, aren't you going to tell him about Julian?" She waggled her eyebrow furiously.

The door swung open, and a woman in a wheelchair rolled in. She had short, curly brown-grey hair and wore a baggy wool pullover. A pipe was tucked in her chest pocket, and a gun lay in a thigh holster.

"What's this I hear about Julian?" She inquired in a slightly accented voice.

"Rodney hasn't told John about Julian."

"Who's John?"

"Rodney's boyfriend."

John, whose head was swimming, gave a small wave in the woman's direction.

"Ah, good to see you're not still trying the whole 'heterosexual' thing."

"Hey!" Rodney screeched, "How is that any of your business?"

"You forget, we dated."

Rodney's cheeks burned. "That- that was a mistake."

"You dated Jessica too, remember? Shall I get her out here and we can reminisce about just how bad the sex was?"

"In fact," Jess cut in, "I distinctly remember hearing through the grapevine that you tried to have sex with her while limp. Should we get her to verify?"

"That's- that's really not necessary, thanks, but-"

"-Or maybe about the time you took me to prom and ended up making out with Steven Jorgenson in the washroom?"

"What?" Rodney said defensively when everyone turned to look at him. "He was a good kisser!"

"He was in the _AV Club, _Rodney."

"So? He was still hot!"

The woman smirked. "I rest my case."

She turned to John. "Sorry about that, I'm Suzette, but you can call me Sadie."

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard at your service, ma'am" He gave a charming grin.

"Oh, stop it," Rodney snapped, "Your flyboy charms are useless here- she's married to my sister."

Sadie and John ignored him.

"Ooh, a flyboy, eh?" Sadie said with a smirk. "In that case, I'm Major Suzette Sauvé, special forces."

John clenched his teeth. He'd been special forces, too, but he preferred not to think about those days. Rodney had broached the subject a few times, but John had left it at "It wasn't exactly pretty, alright, McKay?"

He forced himself to smile. "Where'd you serve?"

Sadie winked. "That's mostly classified, colonel, but I did do quite a few tours in the Middle East. That's what happened to my legs- IED. Direct hit."

John scrunched his nose. "That sucks."

She laughed. "Yes, yes it does. Sadly, not literally, as I can't feel anything below my waist."

"Ew, ew, ew!" Rodney shouted. "TMI! That's my SISTER you're talking about."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Rodney, don't be so overdramatic."

"I'm not, that's just gross."

"Whatever."

Sadie turned to look at Rodney appraisingly. Her green eyes ran over his entire body, more than once, leaving Rodney with the feeling that he had been laid bare, and all his carefully constructed defences had come crashing down.

It wasn't fair that Sadie could always just *do* that, when people- hell, when _John_- had tried for years and only gotten past the first few.

There was a reason he hadn't been home much in the last few decades, and her name was Sadie Sauvé. Rodney liked her. Loved her, in fact, like a sister. But it just wasn't _right, _the way she looked at you.

Finally, she met his eyes. "I didn't know you were a soldier, Rodney."

Rodney looked at her, a frown on his face. "I'm not. Are you kidding me? Do you really think I'd join the army and waste a valuable resource like my brain? It's unconscionable. Really, Sadie, what kind of man-"

But she cut in, her voice smooth and calm. "I did not say that you were in the military. I said that you were a soldier. You wear dog tags, after all."

Rodney sighed, and suddenly, looked older than John had ever seen him. "I was a scientist."

"Working in a war zone, and it all went to shit." Sadie surmised.

"That's- depressingly close to the truth." Rodney stretched, and winced.

John decided to step in. "If you ladies don't mind, we've had an awfully long day. We'd really like to get to a bed. If you could see your way to giving us the keys to Rodney's house, we'd sure be grateful."

He smiled again, every pore oozing Southern boy charm.

Jess smiled, and looked at her brother with a hint of worry in her eyes. "Rodney, are you okay?"

"I'm exhausted, starving, and my damn leg hurts. How do you think I'm doing?"

Jess nodded, then reached into the drawer of her desk. Pulling out a single key on a bit of twine, she passed it to Rodney.

"Here you go," she said with a smile. "We went in as soon as you told us you were coming and cleaned the place up, brought you blankets and so on. The master bedroom's made up, and we made sure to get the hydro and phone line up and running. We figured everything else, you'd want to do for yourself. There's food in the fridge and coffee in the cupboard, so you should be set for at least a day. We're living at Sadie's old place, the number's the same, but I left it on your fridge just in case. Call us if you need anything, alright?"

John grinned. "Sounds perfect. Thank you ma'am."

Jess smiled at him, and walked over to embrace her brother.

"I'm so glad to see you," she whispered into his shoulder. "I was worried you were dead. I thought I might never see you again."

Rodney smiled, and used the gentlest voice John had ever heard come out of his mouth.

"I'll always come back for you, sis. You're mon ti chou, after all."

It was such an emotional and private moment that Sadie and John looked away, feeling like intruders.

After a few seconds, they let go, and walked out of the room.

"I'll walk you to your car," John overheard Jessie say.

As John turned to walk out of the room, Sadie grabbed his elbow and held it with a bruising strength.

"I just think you should know that not only was I, my brother, my father and my grandfather all in the special forces, but Jessie is a doctor who frequently acts as coroner. I can bench press three hundred pounds, and let me assure you, I am faster than you. For all his bluster, Rodney McKay is one of the smartest and sweetest souls I have ever known, and he's taken a lot of shit because of it. If you hurt him, I _will _find you, and I _will_ kill you, and between Jessie and I, nobody will ever find the body. And If you think I'm bluffing, ask Rodney about Julian Miles and what happened to him."

She smiled, her demeanour changing from threatening to friendly. She released his arm, and John rubbed it frantically, trying to get the blood to circulate again.

"You seem like a nice guy, and I'm sure it won't come to that, but I just thought you ought to know." She grinned widely.

"Have a good night, John!"

John looked at her, bewildered, than quickly walked out to the parking lot and got in the truck.

Rodney was in the driver's seat.

"Rod-ney," John said, "You really shouldn't be driving."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "And like I said six hours ago, _you_ don't know where we're going!"

"Fine," John said in an aggrieved tone. "But don't blame me when your leg seizes up again."

"I never blame you," Rodney pointed out. "But you always do."

They drove in silence after that, until Rodney pulled onto a gravely, tree-lined driveway. He parked in front of a small, rambling, wood-frame house. The wooden siding was painted blue, with dark blue shingles on the roof, and the white gingerbread trim was peeling. The windows were un-shuttered, and light gleamed out from them. The stone pathway leading to the house was scattered with imprints of seashells, and the house was bordered on two sides by ravines and on one by a distinctly Athosian forest. Trees grew rampantly on all sides, and a bird feeder hung from a large poplar by the doorway.

Rodney turned to John and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Well," Rodney said with a grin. "Welcome home."


End file.
